a voice thats pure and clear tells me im never quite so dead as thoughts through the dry dead leaves where we once spoke and i clung to it like i was desperate for life how can i be dead when i so deeply cling to you im not okay i float in blue oblivion […]

i am like a cardioid microphone in that im not really capable of anything i am wherever someone else left me i pick up things around me and am heart shaped (emailed this to myself while walking to the bus stop)